


Make women rational creatures

by BroadwayBaggins



Category: Beecham House (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Female Friendship, Gen, Governesses, Mary Wollstonecraft - Freeform, Women Supporting Women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23332957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroadwayBaggins/pseuds/BroadwayBaggins
Summary: Margaret and Miss Woodhouse have a conversation in the chapel.
Kudos: 5





	Make women rational creatures

It was not quite nine in the morning, but already the air was hot and thick with humidity. Even Margaret Osbourne, used to the climate as she was, found herself slightly wilting in the heat as she walked. Dear Roshanara had woken up that morning with a dreadful headache, and begged to postpone lessons and go back to bed for a few more hours’ rest. Her father and Margaret had acquiesced, and now Margaret found herself with some unexpected free time. She had chosen to make the trek to Mr. Beecham’s property, to avail herself of his chapel, as much for the pleasure of being alone with her own thoughts as for the opportunity to pray. 

Margaret took her time as she walked, breathing deep of the air that was thick and heady with the scent of frangipani blossoms and the sound of birdsong.

But when she arrived at the chapel, she found that it was already occupied. Miss Violet Woodhouse sat there, clad in her usual dress of lemon-yellow, a few sweaty tendrils of hair stuck to her forehead and the sides of her face. She turned when she heard Margaret approach, her lips pursing into a most disagreeable expression. Margaret hardly knew what she had done to merit such a greeting, except of course the crime of daring to be acquainted with Mr. Beecham.

Still, she forced a smile and inclined her head politely. Miss Woodhouse seemed to have made up her mind to dislike Margaret on principle, but perhaps, with a little work, she could convince her otherwise. “Good morning, Miss Woodhouse. Forgive me. I didn’t think anyone else was here.”

“Indeed.” Miss Woodhouse’s tone was as dark as her expression. “Good morning, Miss Osbourne.” She fluttered her fan miserably, desperate to create a breeze and some respite from the stifling heat. “I couldn’t sleep any longer,” she whined. “However do you stand it?”

“It is difficult at first, but one does get used to it,” Margaret said gently. Miss Woodhouse regarded her a moment, then sniffed and said nothing more.

Margaret bit her lip, resisting the urge to fidget as she stood there. She had no wish to sit down, nor did she wish to leave the chapel and give Miss Woodhouse a sense of victory in chasing her away. What had she done to make the other woman hate her so? She wished desperately that things were different--why couldn’t the other Englishwoman simply see her as a friend, instead of a threat?

“Well, do sit down,” Miss Woodhouse snapped. “You’ve come all this way, after all.”

Margaret obeyed after a moment’s hesitation. She folded her hands in front of her, but quickly realized that any attempt to pray was going to be impossible, with the feeling of Miss Woodhouse’s eyes on her and the impatient _flick_ of her fan every few seconds. She sighed and opened her eyes, keeping her hands folded.

“Where is your young charge this morning?” Miss Woodhouse asked with another flick of her fan. “I would think you would be elbow-deep in sums and sheet music by now.”

Margaret didn’t miss the well-placed jab, but smiled anyway. “Roshanara was unwell this morning. She is resting. If she is agreeable, we can resume our lessons in the afternoon. But you are right, we usually do get an early start. Her father likes me to see to it that all of his daughter’s hours are well-spent.”

“Hmm,” Miss Woodhouse intoned, her voice sharp, her contempt evident even in that small sound. Margaret straightened her posture, looking the other woman in the eye. She could tolerate the impoliteness, the insinuation that she was unwelcome, but she would not allow her livelihood or Roshanara to be so insulted.

“I am not ashamed of my position. I’m happy to be able to make my own way in the world. So many women are not afforded such opportunity, as well you know.”

“I suppose,” Miss Woodhouse said reluctantly. Her hand holding her fan slowed slightly, and Margaret sensed an opportunity.  
  
“If you could, Miss Woodhouse...Wouldn’t you want the ability to support yourself, as men do?”

“Who wouldn’t?” Miss Woodhouse fired back immediately. She snapped her fan closed and placed it on her lap, not looking at Margaret. “Who wouldn’t, if given the choice? Who wouldn’t seize that freedom? But the fact of the matter is that I cannot, Miss Osbourne. Some of us have to take what we can get.”

“I understand that,” Margaret said evenly. “It is what brought me to this position in the first place. I am a governess by necessity, not choice--as so many others are. But you are right, it does offer me a sense of freedom that others do not have. I have found opportunity even in my misfortune, and I have seized upon it. I make no apologies for that.”

“Nor should you,” Miss Woodhouse said quietly. “It is hardly your fault, I suppose, and...I guess some might say you have done quite well for yourself--your position, your friendship with Mr. Beecham, all of it.”

She sighed, and in that moment Margaret realized that she and Violet Woodhouse may have had more in common than she had originally thought. Perhaps she, too, had had little say in what life had handed to her. Perhaps the decision to accompany Mrs. Beecham to India had not been entirely her own. Perhaps she, too, often felt as if her future were entirely in the control of others.

Margaret could understand that.

“Perhaps in India you may find other opportunities that would not have presented themselves at home,” she began gently. “You can reinvent yourself here, if you wish.”

Violet shook her head harshly. “I came here for one purpose--”

“But you are not without agency, Miss Woodhouse. None of us are, even though it may seem so.” Margaret risked giving the other woman a smile. “I am not your enemy, Miss Woodhouse. I can assure you of that.”

Violet studied her with an expression that Margaret could not quite name. “Perhaps you’re right, Miss Osbourne. Perhaps you’re right. At any rate, I should leave you to your prayers. Good day.”

She stood up and collected her things before sweeping out of the chapel, leaving Margaret to contemplate what had just occurred. She wasn’t hopeful. But just maybe, she could find a friend in Violet Woodhouse after all.

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into Beecham House fic on my own! I wrote this because I get so tired of women being pitted against each other (especially over a man) in period dramas. What would it be like if Violet and Margaret were allies, rather than rivals? This was borne out of that.
> 
> Title is slightly paraphrased from Mary Wollstonecrafts "A Vindication of the Rights of Women", published 1792. As Beecham House takes place in 1795, I suspect Margaret at least would be familiar with the text.


End file.
